


lift your skinny fists like antennas to heaven

by kawuli



Series: Antennas to heaven [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Gen, Genderqueer Character, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Witcher training, canon-typical horribleness, ie witcher training and the trial of the grasses are arguably child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22567801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawuli/pseuds/kawuli
Summary: "Everybody says witchers steal kids. Are you going to steal me?”The witcher looked over, smiling slightly. “Do you want me to?”“You lied to us, Peta,” he said. “We don’t recruit girls to be witchers.”Peta felt her face get hot. She looked down at her shoes -- good leather shoes, hand-me-downs from someone but still whole. She curled her fingers and felt the new calluses starting to grow from sword training. Then she looked Vesemir right in the eye and said, “I’m not leaving. I like it here. I want to stay. Besides, I never lied you just... assumed, and I didn't say anything.”“I want to be a witcher,” Peta said. “I don’t care if it hurts.”Vesemir made a sound like a growl in the back of his throat. “Peta,” he said. “You can’t be a witcher. You won’t survive the Changes. And I am not going to let you kill yourself in my fortress.”“Vesemir, please,” Peta begged. “You don’t know for sure--”
Series: Antennas to heaven [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695328
Comments: 27
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

Peta had heard stories about witchers--everyone had. Witchers stole children, and the kids who scratched a living around the edges of Novigrad’s docks knew quite a bit about stealing. Knew the best things to steal were things no one would notice were gone. None of them would be missed if they vanished. Everyone knew someone who’d just... stopped being around. Snuck onto a ship, or found someone to take them in, or left for somewhere else, or showed up floating in the harbor or slumped in an alley. A witcher could take half a dozen kids a month and no one’d know the difference. 

The witcher at the tavern didn’t look like she’d imagined. Yellow eyes, slitted pupils like a cat’s, sure. Two swords, slung across his back. But beyond that he just looked like a person. No claws or fangs, not even the biggest man in the room. Peta was keeping quiet, crouched near the door where she’d be out of the wind but the innkeeper wouldn’t see her from behind his bar. A drunk had even tossed a copper coin at her on his way out. 

The witcher was drinking, had been since she came in, but when he stood up he was steady on his feet. He walked toward the door, paused and looked at Peta, then continued out. 

She followed him. She was already pushing her luck, staying here as long as she had, and there were worse ways to spend a day than following a witcher around. Even if she did have to run sometimes to keep up with his long-legged stride. 

She followed him to a blacksmith’s shop, to an apothecary, and waited outside the bakery when he went in. 

“Hey. Kid.”

Peta jumped half out of her skin. She’d watched the witcher go in, but his voice was coming from behind her. She spun, half-snarling, bringing her fists up automatically. 

The witcher was just standing there. Peta couldn’t see his face in the glare from the sun behind him. He was holding a paper bag that smelled good enough to make her mouth water, and as she watched he pulled something out of it. He held it out to her--a dumpling the size of her fist, still steaming. She’d snatched it from his hand and was half through eating it before she thought to wonder if it was poisoned. She paused, but decided she didn’t care enough to stop eating. 

The witcher was watching her. “Come on,” he said, and walked away. 

He walked a little slower now. Peta didn’t have to run to keep up. They were heading up, away from the docks, into town proper. Before the streets got alarmingly clean, though, the witcher stopped at a door, pulled out a key, and motioned her in. 

It was warm. There was a fire in the hearth, and Peta went toward it as though pulled by strings. A table, a bed, a chair, a cabinet. A window out onto the street. Clean. 

Peta watched the witcher pull the chair close to the fire and sit down. He looked at her, head to toe and back to head. He sighed.

“What’s your name?” the witcher asked.

“Peta.” 

“How old are you?” 

Peta shrugged. “Dunno.”

He looked at her again. “Hm. Eight or nine maybe?”

Peta shrugged. 

He looked into the fire, frowning. 

"Everybody says witchers steal kids. Are you going to steal me?”

The witcher looked over, smiling slightly. “Do you want me to?”

Peta blinked. This wasn’t how stealing worked, you didn’t _ask_ first. Then she thought about the question. “Where would you take me?” she asked.

“Kaer Morhen,” the witcher replied, then went on. “It’s where we train witchers.” 

“I’d get to be a witcher?” Peta asked. That sounded promising. 

The witcher looked away again, back into the fire. “Maybe. A lot of kids don’t make it.” 

“Why d’you want me?” Peta asked. 

The witcher shifted in his seat a little, took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re either brave or stupid to follow a witcher around, and I don’t think you’re stupid.” 

He looked at Peta. “And you’re running around the docks in the middle of winter, so I doubt you’ve a home to go to.” 

Peta thought about that. “Witchers kill monsters, right?” she asked.

The witcher nodded. 

Peta considered this. “I’d get a sword?” 

“Two, eventually.” 

“Is it fun being a witcher?”

He looked at her. “No. The training is hard, and painful. The work is dangerous. You’re on your own most of the time.”

Peta nodded. “But people don’t mess with witchers,” she added. “And I’d have a sword.” 

She looked at the witcher. He hadn’t replied. She looked around the warm, clean room, thought about going out in the cold, having to run all the way back to the docks before the guards found her where she didn’t belong. Thought about asking around the ships for jobs to do, fighting with the others for a warm spot in the sewers, far enough in to be out of the wind but not so far that she’d wake up a drowner. 

“Yes,” she said. “I want you to steal me.” 

She wasn’t sure if he was smiling.

* * *

They got to Kaer Morhen a few weeks later. By then, Peta had learned that the witcher’s name was Geralt, the horse’s name was Roach, and she’d learned to find celandine and wolfsbane and how to smell a rotfiend coming out of a bog. 

And now she was meeting Vesemir. Geralt was standing next to her, one hand on her shoulder. 

“Geralt, good to see you,” the old man said. “And you’ve picked up a stray.” 

“Mhm. His name’s Peta, says he wants to be a witcher.” 

Vesemir looked her up and down. “Do you now?” he asked, looking Peta in the eye. She nodded, suddenly unsure of herself in this stone fortress full of men with cat’s eyes and long swords. 

“Hmmm,” Vesemir said. “All right, let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll see if we can’t get you settled in.”

Peta looked up at Geralt, but he just squeezed her shoulder and then gave her a little push in Vesemir’s direction. “Good luck, kid,” he said, and turned down another path. 

Peta watched him go, then turned when he heard Vesemir laugh. “That’s Geralt for you. Doesn’t really stick around. Come on.”

Vesemir left her with another old man, in a quieter part of the castle. “Imshael will get you settled in,” he said. “And I’ll see you for training later.” 

* * *

It only took a week before someone noticed something. Peta wasn’t sure what gave her away--she thought she’d gone far enough into the trees that nobody’d notice her squatting to pee, and she’d been very careful getting changed, but Vesemir had called her over during training and sat her down in one of the alcoves that made the whole place a maze. 

“You lied to us, Peta,” he said. “We don’t recruit girls to be witchers.”

Peta felt her face get hot. She looked down at her shoes -- good leather shoes, hand-me-downs from someone but still whole. She curled her fingers and felt the new calluses starting to grow from sword training. Then she looked Vesemir right in the eye and said, “I’m not leaving. I like it here. I want to stay. Besides, I never _lied_ you just... assumed, and I didn't say anything.”

Vesemir sighed. “Child, you don’t understand what staying means.” 

“I like training, I like learning to read, I like learning about all the different plants, I’m strong, I’m the fastest one in my cohort. I want to stay.”

Vesemir studied her face. “You should go back to Novigrad, little girl,” he said, his voice hard.

Peta crossed her arms across her chest. “Why?” she asked. “Why don’t you want me?”

“Women aren’t witchers,” Vesemir said. “They can’t complete the Trials.”

Peta had heard of the Trials, but only in whispers, or as something the older kids used to scare the younger ones. “I can, I know I can.” 

Vesemir looked away, over Peta’s head. His shoulders sagged. “Fine. You can stay for now.” 

Peta grinned, grabbed her wooden sword and ran back to the training yard.

* * *

Peta found out about the Trials long before anyone officially explained them to her. The older kids talked about them a lot, when they thought none of the younger ones were around. Peta’d always been good at hiding, though, and she could get close enough to hear everything they were saying without anyone noticing. 

From the bits and pieces of conversations she heard, she’d figured out two things: one, that the Trials involved having to take a bunch of potions and something called mutagens; and two, that a lot of kids died during them. 

The whole story came a year later, when Vesemir came into the classroom where they were all diligently copying potions recipes from the blackboard into their notebooks. Aleksy looked up when he came in, then stood. The two of them met at the front of the room, shook hands, and then Aleksy stepped back while Vesemir stepped forward. 

“Who can tell me about the Trial of the Grasses?” he asked, looking around the room. 

“They’re what makes us witchers?” said Cibor, from the front row. 

Vesemir nodded. “What else?”

Peta spoke up. “There’s a bunch of potions you have to take, and mutagens, and it makes you really sick.” 

Vesemir nodded again. “That’s true.” 

He glanced around the room, then shifted as though setting himself to block a strike. “I’m going to explain the rest to you.”

He did. He told them about the mutations, about how their bodies would change, about what that meant. At the end, he coughed, and his voice was rough when he said, “It is painful, and difficult, and... many boys do not survive the process.” 

The room went very quiet. Peta looked around. Some kids looked surprised, others scared, one or two like they were having to work very hard to keep from crying. 

“We will do everything we can to help all of you,” Vesemir said. “Whatever happens, you will not go through it alone.”

Peta looked down at her hands. She was sure she could do it, but she didn’t want to look around at her friends and wonder which ones might die soon. 

“Peta, come with me a minute,” Vesemir said. “The rest of you, get back to work.” 

Peta did as she was told. Vesemir took her outside, to stand on the battlements. “Peta, I said you could stay for a while. But you’ll have to leave soon, before the Trial of the Grasses.”

Peta bristled. “Why? I’m just as strong as anyone else, why won’t you let me try?”

Vesemir looked at her. “Girls don’t survive the mutations. I don’t know why.” 

“How do you know? You don’t take girls here.”

“At the beginning... they tried. The girls died.”

“I won't, Vesemir. You said most of the boys die but you still let them try! I _know_ I can do it."

“I can’t let you do that,” Vesemir said, his voice surprisingly quiet. “We’ll ask around, see if we can find someplace for you to go, an apprenticeship maybe.”

“No!” Peta hadn’t meant to yell, but heads turned toward her, then looked away. “No,” she said, more quietly. “I want this. I want to try. It’s my life, isn’t it? So why won’t you let me?”

“I will not help a child kill herself,” Vesemir said. “Now, go back to class.”

A few months later, as spring stretched into summer, the next group of older kids disappeared. “The Trials,” everyone whispered, but no one knew for sure.

Vesemir pulled her away from training again. “Come with me,” he said, and led her deep into the castle, down into the cool cellars. She smelled it first--strong alcohol, some vile mix of plants, and below that the smells of blood, vomit and shit. 

When they got close, she could hear a few kids crying or moaning. She forced herself not to slow down, to keep following Vesemir through a doorway and into a room she’d never seen before. 

At first it looked almost like the bunkroom, with beds on each side of a sort of corridor. But they weren’t beds, they were some kind of table, and next to each was a stand with vials full of potions dripping down tubes and into the veins of the boys on the tables. 

Some of them were on their backs, rigid, staring at the ceiling. One was curled on his side, throwing up. Another was twitching and shivering violently. Several men moved through the room, checking on each kid, sometimes talking to them, sometimes brushing hair away from sweaty foreheads. 

Vesemir had stopped just inside the doorway. When Peta looked back at him his mouth was pinched to a thin line, his face pale in the flickering torchlight. 

“Come on,” he said, and turned to leave. 

Peta took a deep breath when they walked back out into the sunshine. She looked out toward the training yard the older kids used, the kids with golden cat-eyes, who could call up a wall of flame and who never talked to the younger ones. They had all been through that cellar room at some point. So had Vesemir, standing silent and still beside her. 

“Now do you see why I want you to leave?” Vesemir asked quietly. 

Peta nodded. But... “I want to be a witcher,” she said. “I don’t care if it hurts.” 

Vesemir made a sound like a growl in the back of his throat. “Peta,” he said. “You can’t be a witcher. You won’t survive the Changes. And I am not going to let you kill yourself in my fortress.” 

“Vesemir, _please_ ,” Peta begged. “You don’t know for _sure_ \--”

“Stop,” Vesemir said. “Can I trust you not to tell the boys what I showed you? We don’t want to scare them any more than we have to.”

Peta’s teeth ground. “Fine. I won’t say anything.” 

“Good. Go back to training.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peta was probably-eleven when she finally convinced Vesimir to let her start taking the decoctions that were the first step in the Witchers' transformation. 

"You can try," he said, glaring at her. "But if I say stop, you're done. Understood?"

Peta nodded, gritting her teeth to keep from grinning. 

So she wasn’t going to complain. Not at all, not about collecting plants and mushrooms that only seemed to grow in the deepest caves or on the highest peaks. Not about brewing foul-smelling potions and choking down decoctions that left her stomach cramping and churning. They trained every day, even when Peta spent a whole night throwing up, even when she collapsed in the middle of sword drill, dizzy and sick. Every morning she dragged her aching body out of bed, ate, drank, did what she was told, fell back into bed at night exhausted. 

But it was no different for the other boys. There were 15 of them starting the process. Piotr had arrived not long after Peta, wearing fancy clothes and new leather shoes. Maksim had been there when she arrived, and was forever certain that he was the best, would always be the best. To Peta's dismay, she hadn't yet been able to beat him at sword drills and prove him wrong. Janek was bright, friendly, eager to make friends. 

The first boy left after a week. Mirek had been sick since the beginning, only getting worse, until he couldn’t keep up in training or on hikes. First he stayed in his bed, then was gone. Infirmary, at first, and then--well, nobody knew for sure, but they didn’t see him again. Two other boys were taken to the infirmary in the next week. Piotr had come back, pale, with red-rimmed eyes and moving slowly. He had said goodbye in a quiet voice, and then disappeared. They heard his parents had come to get him. Bartek disappeared just like Mirek. 

By that time, Peta began to feel a change. She still felt sick, aching, exhausted, but she stopped throwing up, and her vision stopped tunneling down to a point in training. After another week she just felt sore and tired, and then, finally, the pain faded to a dull ache, the tiredness not more than before. 

The rest of them made it. After a month they could joke about the odd additions to their meals, and Peta felt better even than she had before. Colors seemed brighter, the mountains clearer against the sky. They could wake up earlier, go to bed later, train harder, run faster. 

And train harder they did. 

Training had never been easy. Now, though, Radzim took them out to train in the Bastion. Just getting there was hard: the hill was steep and rocky, the path uneven, and they raced up it every morning.

Today Peta was the first through the arched doorway, two steps ahead of Maksim, who started glaring at her before he even caught his breath. The last four of their group of 12 had to run the hill twice more before they could start training. Janek had come 8th, and shot Peta a relieved smile when he realized he'd passed.

Peta had been surprised how much of sword training didn't have anything to do with actual swords. "No one can parry a slyzard's tail," Radzim said. "You have to be fast, you have to know how to move, you can never be where they expect you to be." 

So the first drills they did were more like a dance than a fight. Pirouettes and jumps, diving high in the air and rolling on the ground, one minute fast-fast-fast, the next minute Peta's thighs burning from holding a lunge position until Radzim let them move. Only once he was satisfied with their performance did Radzim let them get out the weapons--and sometimes that meant the wooden swords stayed in their racks while they struggled to correct the errors only Radzim could see. Some days Radzim decided they were all too slow running up the hill and they did that for the whole morning, over and over until half the kids were puking. 

Today most of them were allowed some time for free training, just before they stopped for lunch. Peta was paired with Maksim, who was the only one who still gave her shit for being a girl. Everyone else had long since stopped caring what was in her pants, since it didn't make a difference anywhere else. But Maksim couldn't let it go.

"Come on, little girl, are you _still_ pretending to be a witcher?" Maksim sneered, balancing himself on the balls of his feet, sword ready. 

"I'm not _pretending_ shit, Maksim," Peta snarled, leaping forward. The wooden swords clashed against each other, sending vibrations up Peta's arms. She disengaged, dodged, spun and struck at Maksim's left, but he got his own blade up to meet her. Circling, they watched each other, one attacking, then the other, and neither had breath enough for more taunts. 

When Radzim called them back, neither Peta nor Maksim had won definitively. It was unsatisfying, Peta thought, but she was too tired to want to keep trying. Maksim winked as he brushed past her, heading down for lunch, and Peta just rolled her eyes. 

At lunch she sat next to Mieszko. Peta had never managed to beat him in free training, which was irritating, but at least he wasn't a dick about it. 

"Oh look, it's the green drink today," Mieszko said, as they took their seats. "I love the green drink."

Peta raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

Mieszko laughed. "Course not," he said. "Tastes like rotten cave moss." He picked up his mug, drained half of it in one go, and made a face. 

Peta drank hers more slowly. It wasn't the worst of the decoctions they got regularly, but it was pretty close. Today's lunch was normal-looking stew and bread at least, but Peta thought she could taste some sewant mushrooms hidden in the stew. 

After lunch, they had an hour to rest before they had to go up to the library for Herbalism or Monster Identification. Then supper, then a rest, then evening calisthenics and the infirmary for whatever latest cut or bruise or twisted ankle needed attention. 

By the time Peta went to bed, she was always exhausted. But somehow, by the next morning she was ready to start all over.

* * *

Then it was winter, and they settled down to more studying from books and fewer treks through the mountains. They might have been bored, but Kaer Morhen was at its busiest in winter, when witchers came from all over to spend the winter someplace safe and warm and familiar. The kids weren’t supposed to bother the grown men, but they’d all gotten good at eavesdropping from somewhere out-of-the-way. Peta was sure the witchers saw them, but she guessed they’d decided not to care. 

Geralt showed up one evening, blown in by a coming blizzard. Peta hadn't seen him since he left her with Vesemir, but she'd heard enough stories to be impossibly curious. She wasn't going to follow him around, staring, but she stole glances when she could. 

And then he walked into the courtyard where she was sparring with Maksim--and winning. Geralt leaned against the wall to watch--and Peta put him out of her mind until Maksim was on his back, her wooden sword at his throat. He spat curses at her when she offered a hand to help him up, scrambled to his feet and stalked off.

Then Peta turned and grinned at Geralt. He nodded absently, paused, looked more closely. 

“Peta,” Geralt said. Not really a question.

“Yes,” Peta said. 

“You’ve grown since I saw you last.” Geralt smiled just a little.

Peta straightened in her sweaty, rather grubby clothes. “I would hope so.” She paused, then continued. “Geralt-- thanks,” she said. “For stealing me.” 

Geralt winced. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Not before your Trials.” 

Peta shrugged. “I’m not worried about the Trials." It was a lie, but one she’d been telling herself for so long it almost felt true. “I’d ‘ave had worse by now back in Novigrad.” 

“I doubt that,” Geralt said. “But I wish you well.”

* * *

When the days got longer and the witchers started leaving, alone or in twos and threes, Peta’s whole cohort knew their Trial of the Grasses was coming soon. They started getting assigned new plants to find-- arenaria flowers and nostrix leaves, which stung your hands if you weren’t wearing gloves; bryonia stems, ribleaf and mandrake roots. They went out in groups to find drowners to collect blood and brains, teeth and skin. Peta tried not to think about what the grisly mess would be used for.

And then Vesemir came one morning for Peta. Early, while the other boys were just climbing out of bed and getting dressed. He called to her from the door and walked with her a little way into the lower courtyard. 

“It’s time to go,” he said. “Someone from town is coming with a wagon. Pack your things.”

“No.” Peta planted her feet firmly. 

“Peta--”

“No. If you want me to leave you’re going to have to pick me up and carry me out.” Peta swallowed past the lump in her throat. She wondered if Vesimir could hear her heart beat, loud and fast. “Please, Vesimir. _Please_.” 

Vesemir looked towards the gates. He was quiet a long time. 

Then he closed his eyes, dragged a hand down his face, and turned to her. “Go back inside,” he said. “Someone will come in a few minutes to take you to the Trial.” 

Peta felt like she’d put down a heavy pack, like she stood inches taller. “Thank you, Vesemir,” she said, “I--”

“Don’t thank me,” Vesemir snapped. “Don’t--” He stopped, sighed. “Go inside,” he repeated. 

Peta snapped her mouth closed, nodded, and did as she was told.

* * *

This was the Trial they all knew to dread. No one said a word as they followed a mage down to the cellar room Peta remembered from last year. The walls were lined with the same odd tables--or cages? Open slats. Restraints for hands and feet. A bucket under each one, a stand with potions at one side, a tray of tools. The two medics prepared them, quietly stripping them out of their clothes and into thin gowns. They were laid on the tables, strapped in, and three mages went from one boy to the next, preparing them to begin.

Peta heard one boy scream, another gasp, and told herself she wouldn't make a sound. She would show Vesemir, show everyone, that she was strong enough to take it. When the medic wiped her arm with alcohol, set a needle into her vein, she was quiet. When he turned the stopper on the first vial, she took a deep, calming breath. 

When the potion entered her body it felt as though it would burn through flesh and bone and drip down onto the floor, but she kept her mouth shut, letting her breath hiss out past her teeth. The pain spread through her, as though her blood had been turned to acid--she couldn't cry out now, when every breath was a struggle and any brush of cloth against skin was agony. At first Peta counted her breaths to keep track of time, but she couldn't keep it up, so time became meaningless beyond the next breath, dragging air into her lungs even though it felt like breathing flame. 

Then the fire turned to ice, and she shivered, hard full body shudders slamming her against the table. Then someone was releasing the restraints, rolling her onto her side as she vomited bitter yellow bile. Someone sat beside her, giving her sips of cold water that barely soothed her burning throat. 

When Peta slept, it was fractured, restless. She dreamed of monsters, of being torn apart by wolves, of falling into the ice cold water of the Novigrad harbor and sinking, sinking, sinking, down into the cold and the dark.

It might have lasted a week, a month, a century. Again and again, restraints in place for more potions, fire in her veins, sobbing from pain when she moved, water trickling down her throat. Restless sleep, frightening dreams.

And then, finally, it was over. Peta opened her eyes to dim grey light coming through a window, shifted and found she was no longer restrained, no longer on a table but a bed, covered in soft blankets. Her skin felt burned, her whole body ached, and raising a hand to her face took all the strength she could manage. But the torment had ended. 

She had survived. That was... good. Important, though she couldn't remember quite why.

* * *

Everything hurt. Not like during the trial, nothing like that. But the light from the narrow windows was too bright, seemed to stab at her eyeballs. Every noise was so loud it made her wince. If she brushed a hand over the woolen blankets, each fiber tickled at her skin. She could feel the weave of the linen sheets, smell the sharp tang of sweat. 

There were four beds in this room. She couldn't tell at first who was in the others, but then someone came in with trays--broth, tea, slices of bread. As they sat to eat Peta looked around. On her left was Janek. Across the room were Cibor and Mieszko. 

Peta sipped at her cup of broth, the taste overwhelming, the warmth tracing from her throat down to her stomach. She tried a bite of the bread but her stomach cramped, threatening, and she put it down. 

Janek gave her a small smile. "I couldn't eat the first day either," he said. His voice sounded hoarse and rough. Peta tried to smile back, but her breath caught when she saw his eyes. Yellow-green, with slit pupils like a cat. Like a Witcher. She looked back down at her hands. Did her eyes look like that now? They must.

* * *

A few nights later, Peta was sitting in the center of her bed, legs crossed under her. Not meditating, just sitting, feeling the tension and release of muscles she'd never thought about but were now weak and sore from disuse, when Janek pushed himself up against the head of his bed and sighed. 

Peta opened her eyes and looked at him, his strange new cat-eyes gleaming in the dim light. "You're awake," Janek said. 

"Obviously," Peta said, but without bite. 

"You've been sleeping so much..." Janek looked down. "I guess we all have, but I thought maybe you..." 

"You thought I wouldn't make it?" Peta asked. 

"Well, I heard girls--"

"Just because I don't have a dick, that doesn't mean I can't be just as good a witcher as anybody." The flare of anger was automatic, and yet unexpected. Sharp, where everything else in her mind felt soft, faded, the mountains disappearing into thick fog. 

Janek smiled a little, kept his mouth shut. Peta closed her eyes again, tried in earnest to meditate, managed to be still and calm until the sun came up and brightness stabbed through her eyelids. Then she laid down, pulled the blanket over her head, and slipped in and out of sleep.

Peta woke up to the door slamming shut, sat straight up, blankets sliding down around her hips, looking around for a weapon. 

So her reflexes were still intact. That was good.

But it was only Radzim, looking a little amused. Across the room, Mieszko was biting his lip trying not to laugh. Cibor was still waking up, looking around groggily. Janek must have already been awake, sitting against the wall at the head of his bed.

"Come on, time to get moving, you've had enough lying around," Radzim said. He walked up and down the room, leaving trousers and shirt at the end of each bed. "Get dressed and meet me in the courtyard."

They were all clumsy, struggling with laces and buttons, walking slowly across the cool stone. Peta wasn't the only one breathing fast by the time they got to the upper courtyard.

Pathetic, that. 

She looked around, but they were the only ones. "Are the others--" Peta started, then stopped when she caught the look on Janek's face.

She looked around, swallowed. "Really? Just us four?"

Cibor nodded. 

"Maksim-- he was the best, he never let us forget it..." Peta trailed off. She knew. They all knew the statistics. But to stand on the cold stone of the inner courtyard with only three other boys, where before there had been a crowd... 

Radzim walked over. "You can't ever tell," he said softly. "It's not always the strongest who make it through, or the biggest, or the fastest."

Peta shivered, although the air was warm. 

"Come on," Radzim said. "Sword forms, first through fifth, without blades. Three times, as fast or as slow as you need to."

Radzim being nice was perhaps the strangest thing of all. As though he'd seen her thoughts, he added, "Enjoy it while it lasts. I'll get back to being a hardass soon enough."

Peta was shocked at how slow she was, how much work the forms were, without even a wooden practice sword. Glancing around, she saw that at least the others weren't much better. Janek finished first, then Mieszko, then Peta, and finally Cibor, who looked like he might throw up. 

"Come on," Radzim said when they finished, "Come get something to eat."

At that, Cibor looked positively green. "Radzim, I--"

Radzim nodded. "Head on back," he said. "I'll come check on you later." 

They went past the kitchen, past the room where they'd always eaten before, and into the castle's echoing Great Hall. Older boys were already sitting at most of the tables, and as Radzim ushered them in, conversations faded until everyone was looking at them.

_Sizing up the new kids_ , Peta thought. She just hoped they wouldn't be too nasty about it. In Novigrad, the older boys were vicious with each other, fighting over jobs or turf or girls. And this spring Peta would've said she could hold her own in a fight with just about anyone, but now, well... she was sweaty and tired after the slowest, most basic warmup. 

But after a moment of sharp attention, the expressions on the faces of the cat-eyed boys relaxed into smiles, and they went back to their food and their conversations. 

"Go on," Radzim said. "Food's on the table." He gestured toward an empty table, a little away from the others. 

There was a pot of stew and a loaf of bread in the center, and they served themselves. Nobody seemed to want to say anything, eating slowly and stealing glances around the room. Peta could only manage a few bites of the stew before the combination of tastes and textures got too overwhelming. The bread was better. She sat nibbling at it, looking around.

"They all have the eyes," Janek said, quietly. 

"So do we," Peta replied. 

Janek glared at her, which at least was familiar. "I know, it's just..." he shrugged.

Peta thought she understood. The line between the little kids and the older ones was sharp, marked by the Trials. They'd rarely seen the older boys before, except occasionally out in the woods collecting ingredients or running the lake trail. Their trainers had golden witchers' eyes, sure, but only the trainers.

Here, not one person in the whole room had ordinary round pupils. 

They finished, made their way back to their room. Cibor was drinking broth again--Peta wasn't sure if she felt sorry for him or wished she could do the same. 

"Radzim says you're supposed to rest," Cibor said. He looked better than he had before, and a little sheepish. "The bell rings for supper, and after he'll show us the library." 

Peta climbed into her bed, curled on her side, pulled the blankets over her head, and fell asleep.

* * *

True to his word, Radzim was back to being a hardass before long. But Peta didn't mind--her strength and stamina were coming back quickly, and she was restless. They had new things to learn now -- Signs with Bazyli, Herbalism with Stefek, and sword training led by Vesemir or Radzim, or anyone else who Vesemir thought might have something interesting to teach. After the first weeks they trained with the older boys. Peta remembered a few of them--Brajan had helped her settle in when she first arrived, then disappeared to the Trials a few months later. Jaroslaw had been the prankster of the group until his Trials, a year before Peta's. Now they were both pummeling her in training, then laughing and pointing out what she'd done wrong. Brajan was the one who introduced them to the Gauntlet, the training path that ran around the lake, through the mountains, across streams and up rock faces. They ranged farther for herbs, finding their way into the high passes of the Blue Mountains and back, sometimes thirty miles in a day, from dawn until long past dark.

Autumn turned to winter, and Peta learned that half-frozen hands were better than trying to climb in gloves, and that a sprained ankle couldn't keep her out of training more than a couple of days, but would hurt for weeks. Once the lake froze over, Vesemir moved their sword training onto the ice, and Peta amassed an impressive collection of bruises before learning how to keep herself balanced. Mieszko set his mattress on fire one night, using the Igni Sign to try to keep warm. Janek had figured out that he could use Aard on the cliff face to send himself sliding across the lake full speed, and they competed to see who could go furthest. Janek was best with Signs, Mieszko could beat any of them with a sword, and Peta won races of the Gauntlet more often than not. Cibor was always just a little behind, a little slower to react, carefully casting his Igni and watching it burst into sparks instead of flame. 

They were all tired, all the time. Peta couldn't guess how long it had been since she'd been able to undress at night without snagging something on a new scrape, a new bruise, a joint overstretched or a muscle cramping. She healed faster now, but the intensity of their training more than made up for that.

They were all struggling. Peta told herself later that must have been why they didn't notice Cibor's pale, blotchy face, the way the skin under his eyes looked bruised. The times he skipped meals in favor of herbal teas and bone broth didn't seem worse than the time Peta had a concussion and had to stay in bed for two days until she could see straight and got her balance back. 

But with Cibor it was different. By midwinter it was obvious that something wasn't right. Cibor refused to talk about it, insisted he was fine, snapped at Janek for trying to help him with his Signs. A week later, he collapsed on the Gauntlet and by the time the others had finished he'd disappeared into the infirmary. 

He didn't come back. Nobody asked what happened: they knew. 

* * *

Geralt arrived a week into the new year, striding into the Great Hall in weatherworn armor, swords over his shoulder. He glanced around, and when his eyes met Peta’s he exhaled, whole body sagging in relief. It was only for a moment, before he collected himself and headed over to a table of other grown witchers, but Peta saw.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes for this chapter: 
> 
> \- Talk about menstruation, nothing graphic but if you want to skip, it's the conversation between Peta and Triss
> 
> \- Gender confusion and feelings and stuff -- if you want to skip that part, stop after Peta says "Mutations worked, I guess" and pick back up at "Peta liked nights" at which point it's monster hunting and such from there on in.

The next summer, Peta waited impatiently for a new cohort to complete their Changes. She was tired of being the youngest of the trainees, always the smallest, a little slower, not quite as strong. It seemed like more than a year separated them from the little boys, training in the lower courtyard and in the Bastion. They were different now: real witchers-in-training, no longer children. But Peta remembered some of those kids--Kresimir, who talked a mile a minute and showed off his knowledge about Northern royal lines; Stefan, another street kid from Novigrad whose eyes had gone wide when he saw Peta -- apparently the story was she'd been killed by the guards. Dobromil, who'd barely talked when he first arrived but who could scramble up the castle's rough stone walls better than anyone. They had all been disappointed not to be chosen with Peta's cohort, so odds were they'd be in this one. Along with nobody knew how many others. 

Everyone was a little quieter when they knew the Trial of the Grasses was happening. The cellar room was isolated enough that they rarely heard anything, but sometimes the smells of potion preparation would filter up into the Great Hall and Peta would suddenly lose her appetite. The older trainees could tell when a boy's body was carried out, but all of them could smell when the pyres were lit to burn the corpses. Nobody talked about it. 

Janek had been hassling Radzim for days about when the new trainees would be ready, until one morning at breakfast, Radzim was conspicuously absent. The three of them ate quickly, trading raised eyebrows but not saying anything until they'd finished. Then Janek grabbed Mieszko's hand and pulled him toward the door, Peta following right behind. 

They scrambled up the battlements, finding a place where they'd be hidden from the trainers who thought they were out running the Gauntlet, but could see the inner courtyard and the entry to the infirmary where the boys who completed their trials would be staying.

"Who do you think will make it?" Mieszko asked. "I bet Stefan does, just out of spite."

Peta considered. "Yeah, but I was sure Mirek would make it and he didn't."

They looked over at Janek, who just shook his head. "I'm not guessing," he said. "That's gross." 

Mieszko's face flushed, and he looked down. 

They didn't have to wonder much longer. The door opened and Radzim walked into the courtyard, followed by two boys.

"Just two?" Mieszko said, quietly. "Shit."

"The first one is Dobromil, isn't it?" Peta asked. 

Janek nodded. "Dobromil and Lambert." 

"Lambert... he's the one Oskar brought in, isn't he?" Mieszko asked. "Kind of a pain in the ass?"

Janek gave him an even look.

"What?" Mieszko looked defensive. "He punched me in the stomach once because I took his favorite practice sword!"

Peta remembered that. It was hard to connect the scowling, stocky kid to the skinny, pale boy in the courtyard. 

"Were we that skittish?" Peta asked, as the boys glanced around the courtyard as though there might be monsters hiding in the corners.

"I was," Janek said. "Think about it, we were in no shape to defend ourselves and we didn't know what was coming."

Peta shivered, as the memory came over her all at once. Weak, scared, cold, dizzy and disoriented, standing in the once-forbidden inner courtyard and wondering what Radzim was going to make them do, and what would happen when she couldn't do it. 

They watched as the two boys began to move through sword drills. 

"Hey!" 

Peta's head snapped around to find Bazyli standing at the door to the inside.

"You three are supposed to be running the Path, not sitting around. Get going, and I don't want to see any of you back here until suppertime."

Mieszko's face fell, but they all knew better than to argue.

* * *

Peta heard the dinner bell while she was still a mile from Kaer Morhen, and her stomach growled loudly as encouragement to hurry. She sprinted across the log bridge over the Gwenllech, scrambled up the cliff on the far side, and slowed to a jog as she reached the outer gates. She was dripping with sweat, legs aching, arms trembling from so much climbing. There was a water barrel outside the Great Hall, and it took an effort not to just dunk her head into it. Instead Peta dumped a dipperful on her head, then drank another dipper so fast her stomach churned. That done, she rinsed her hands and went in to eat. 

Janek was already there, as red-faced as Peta knew she must be, sitting at a table with Dobromil and Lambert. Up close, she recognized Lambert more easily, and Dobromil was familiar enough that his green-gold eyes were jarring. Both boys were listening to Janek, who was telling them about the Gauntlet and why running it four times in one day was such a bad idea. 

Peta sat down next to Janek. "I'm not sure I'll be able to walk back to my room," she added, half-joking. "Don't piss off Bazyli, kids." 

Lambert smirked. "Thanks for the tip," he said. "And here's the third delinquent," he added, as Mieszko came in. 

Mieszko's eyes narrowed, but then he shook his head, smiling faintly. "Good to see you too, Lambert," he said, and he came to sit on Janek's other side. 

Dobromil looked between the three of them. "You look... different," he said. "Not just the eyes," he added, as Lambert opened his mouth to comment, "You're ...bigger. I don't know..." he trailed off with a shrug.

Peta looked around the table. She hadn't thought much about it, but they were bigger-- they'd all outgrown their clothes, and Radzim was giving them longer, heavier swords. "Mutations worked, I guess," she said. 

They all laughed.

* * *

A few weeks later Peta and Dobromil were paired together for sword drills. He was still getting used to his faster reflexes, still slow in parrying her quick strikes, but Peta could see he wouldn't be so easy to beat in a few months. 

Afterwards they walked toward the Great Hall for lunch. Dobromil glanced at her, worrying at his lower lip.

"What?" Peta asked. 

Dobromil glanced at her, then looked away. "I thought they said girls couldn't do the Trials," he mumbled. "But you don't look like a girl anyway so..." He shrugged one shoulder. "It's dumb. Nevermind."

Peta hadn't thought about that for months. "I guess they were wrong," she said. "About girls." 

Dobromil hesitated, then nodded. "I guess so."

The second part of Dobromil's question nagged at Peta. _You don't look like a girl_. Well, what was a girl supposed to look like? She paid more attention to the women who came to sell produce, to do laundry and mending. They were... soft. Not delicate, not these village women with their rough hands and strong backs, but with soft curves where Peta had lines of hard muscle. 

Well, so what? Peta told herself it didn't matter, she wasn't a girl she was a _witcher_ , but she couldn't help wondering. 

As winter approached and witchers started to arrive, Peta came in from a snowy, slippery run of the Gauntlet to discover an unexpected guest: a sorceress with brilliant red hair was sitting near Eskel and some of the older men in the Great Hall. Peta kept stealing glances at the woman, whose bright clothes stood out like wildflowers among the dusty browns and greys of well-worn armor and patched jackets the witchers all wore.

Peta wanted to talk to her, but what would she say? "Hello, you are a female human, I am a presumably-female almost-human?" Hardly. What did she have in common with a glamorous woman in a low-cut blouse with a magical aura that bent the world slightly around her? Nothing. 

But the next morning on her way to breakfast, Vesemir stopped her. 

"There's someone you need to see," he said. "Come on."

"Why me?" Peta asked. "Why _just_ me?" 

"Hush," Vesemir snapped. "Witchers don't whine." 

Peta closed her mouth and followed him. 

Into a room in the tower, where the red-haired woman stood waiting. Watching. This close, Peta didn't like the way the woman's eyes seemed to stab through her skin and down to her bones. 

"Triss," Vesemir said. "And this one is Peta." 

"Hello, Peta," Triss said, while Vesemir left the room, closing the door behind him. 

"Hello." Peta didn't move. "Why are you here?" 

"Because someone thought I should check on you."

"Why me?"

"Because you're a girl who survived the witcher mutations, and we want to learn more about how." 

"Maybe I'm not really a girl," Peta said, words spilling out before her brain could stop them. Glancing toward the window, she considered whether she could scramble down the wall to avoid this conversation. Probably not. Kaer Morhen could use some fixing up, but the mortar wasn't _that_ rotten. Besides, Peta was curious.

"Why do you say that?" the woman asked. 

Peta shrugged. 

"How old are you?"

"Probably thirteen."

The woman looked Peta up and down, assessing. "You are a little beanpole, aren't you?" she said.

"I grew two inches this year," Peta said. "Everyone says my muscles will catch up." 

"Hmmm. Take off your clothes, if you would."

Peta shrugged, pulled her boots off, and began to undress. The sorceress studied her with interest--not the kind of interest that Peta half-remembered from Novigrad that made her fists itch, more like the interest Stefek turned on an unusual plant specimen. 

Then the sorceress did something complicated with her hands, and a blue glow appeared between them. It floated toward Peta, sparked brightly and disappeared inside of her with an odd tingling sensation.

"Hmmm," the sorceress said. "The witcher mutagens have changed you. 'Woman' is not _incorrect_ , but neither is it fully accurate."

Peta considered this. "So does that mean I won't get..." Peta felt her face get hot and looked away, gesturing helplessly toward Triss. 

"I cannot say for sure what will happen," the sorceress replied. "I think it's unlikely you will develop a womanly body, especially with as much training as witchers do. And all witchers are sterile, so you surely will be as well. Have you begun bleeding?"

Peta looked at her. "I... when I cut myself, sure?" 

Triss rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Nobody told you."

"Told me what?"

"Woman usually bleed once a month. From their vaginas."

Peta stared in horror. "Why?" 

Triss couldn't quite keep the amusement out of her voice. "It's just part of being a woman," she said. "They say it has to do with the moon, but I don't really know." 

"That's going to happen to me? How much blood? Do I just.... stuff bandages in there like it's a stab wound?"

Triss chuckled. "There are a few ways to deal with it."

"Can you cure it with magic?" 

"In a way," Triss said, serious again. "But it may not happen to you."

"Because of the mutations," Peta said, with some relief.

"Precisely." Triss sighed. "Look... if you do start bleeding, tell Vesemir--"

Peta thought about telling Vesemir she was bleeding from her vagina and ...couldn't imagine it.

Triss must have seen the look on her face. "Actually, tell Stefek. He knows how to contact me. Just... say you need me, I'll tell him you might come."

Peta nodded, feeling a little less unsettled. "I hope I don't have to," she grumbled. "No offense! I just mean..."

"No offense taken, witcherling," Triss said, smiling. "Now go eat your breakfast."

* * *

* * *

Peta liked nights. It was quieter, and with witchers' eyes darkness was better than the fierce midday glare of the sun. But just now Peta wished she was asleep somewhere rather than under the spray of stars, moving carefully up past a rocky mountain meadow.

She was tracking a forktail, alone in the high passes above Kaer Morhen. She’d been sent up here to find it two days ago, and she was getting close--she’d found its kill, followed a blood trail up here, and now the trail ended. The forktail must have its lair in some crevice in the rock faces up ahead, but Peta couldn't see any sign of it. Peta’s teeth ground, she winced at the sound and stopped. She needed sleep, real sleep, but it was too dangerous out here for real sleep. So instead she found a spot a little out of the wind, settled herself, sitting on her heels, sword across her lap, let her breathing slow, and waited. 

They’d been taught to meditate right along with learning to fight, from the very beginning. But it wasn’t until after the Changes that Peta had been able to find this kind of stillness, her heartbeat slow, breaths quiet. It wasn’t sleep--she would snap out of it in an instant if she heard something, smelled something, sensed something wasn’t right--but the trainers assured her that an hour or two a day could keep her going for a while if she couldn’t find a safe place to rest. Peta suspected that was part of this test--seeing whether they could manage a few days on their own without anyone to watch their backs. 

She stirred when the wind began to pick up, signaling the upcoming dawn. Opening her eyes, she looked around without moving, checking for anything she’d missed in her exhaustion. She was still tired, but it was ordinary tiredness, the kind she could ignore right along with the hunger of snatched mouthfuls on the trail and the pain of muscles pushed past their endurance. All that was normal. 

Now she just had to find that bloody forktail. She still couldn’t see any sign of it, so she looked around for anything that might make a comfortable lair for the beast. Out of the wind, because they didn’t like the cold; not caves, because they always kept an escape path upwards. There was a boulder field ahead, and then what might be a ravine above that. It might also be a cave, or a shadow on the cliff face playing tricks on her, but it was the only clue she could see. So she got to her feet and crept silently up the slope. 

When she got closer, she smelled it -- the faintest hint of old carrion. Peta drew her silver sword as quietly as she could and eased her way along the rock face toward the crack she could now see split the wall from top to bottom. The pre-dawn cold would be the best time to strike, the forktail sluggish before it could warm its wings in the sun. So she moved quickly, quietly, careful of her footing, around the corner and into the ravine. There. It was curled on a low ledge, against the southeast wall where the sun would hit first. Peta stepped closer, closer...

The forktail opened its eyes and screamed, leaping toward her. 

Peta’s sword came up automatically, blocking her face from the needle-sharp talons She brought it down fast, pushing forward and feeling the blade catch on flesh. She spun, saw its wings stretch to leap again, and brought the blade upwards, tearing through the wing membrane to keep the thing on the ground. It was only then that she remembered the Signs, and with her left hand she signed Aard to send the beast stumbling back, awkward and unbalanced with one wing destroyed. She leaped after it, slashing into its chest, and it fell. A hard thrust past the breastbone, and it stopped moving. 

Peta took a step back, watching warily and catching her breath. 

Her first real monster kill. She laid her silver sword on the ground, took out a long knife and sliced through its tough scaly skin, severed tendons, hacked through the spine, and pulled the head away from the body. Blood oozed from both parts, so Peta set the head against a rock to drain while she cleaned her sword. First with a handful of dry moss from her pack, then with a cloth, then the oilcloth, and only then back into the scabbard. Then she dug into her pack again and found the packet of celandine she'd collected, tied up with a cloth. She dumped the half-dry flowers haphazardly into her pack and shook out the cloth, wrapping it around the monster's head. Then she tied the corners together, and tied the whole bundle to her belt. 

Time to go home. 

She grinned as she turned back, sliding a little down the steep slope. She wanted to run back to Kaer Morhen, to fling her trophy at that snot Lambert and let him seethe until Vesimir decided he was ready for his own monster in a year or two. 

But as she got closer to the path, she slipped on a round stone and fell on her ass. It only gave her another bruise, but reminded her to pay attention. The test wasn’t over until she made it back to Kaer Morhen in one piece, alone, with her trophy. 

So she settled into a brisk walk, kept her mind occupied trying to identify birdcalls and useful plants along the path. The way out, tracking, doubling back, climbing higher and higher, had taken two full days, but the way back--downhill, on a familiar path--only took four hours. It was not quite noon when she strode across the bridge into Kaer Morhen. 

Lambert was in the courtyard, sparring with some of the other boys. He looked up when she came in, then pretended not to notice her. 

She didn’t throw her trophy at him. She just strode across the patchy grass to where Vesemir was overseeing training and waited for him to look over. 

“Peta,” he said, “welcome back. And what have you brought us?” Peta couldn’t remember when she’d last seen Vesemir smile, but he was smiling now--despite making an obvious effort to hide it. 

Peta pulled at the knot at her belt and took out the forktail’s head. “I got the forktail,” she said, grinning widely and not even bothering to hide her pride. “Its lair was in a little ravine up past the saddle toward Gwenn Ard.”

Vesemir took the thing and looked at it, nodding. “Good,” he said. “Now go get cleaned up and come down for lunch.” 

“Are the others back yet?” Peta asked.

Vesemir shook his head. “You’re the first,” he said. “Well done, Peta.”

Tired as she was, Peta almost skipped up the stone stairs to her little room, where she dumped her pack, her swords, her boots unceremoniously inside the door, and then hurried to the baths.

* * *

Lunch tasted better than any meal Peta could remember. She had to force herself to slow down and actually chew the venison in the sauce. After she finished she pushed her chair back, pleasantly tired, and started to head for her room. 

“Peta,” Vesemir called as she walked across the courtyard, “Where do you think you’re going?” 

Peta stopped. “To rest, I--”

“Are we sending you back to have nap time with the infants?” Vesemir asked mildly. “There’s a group doing Signs with Bazyli in the upper courtyard, go join them. You could use the practice.”

Peta sighed, but only to herself. To Vesemir she said “Yes sir,” and turned to climb the stairs. 

Mieszko arrived while she was still practicing Quen and Igni with a fourteen-year-old who was obviously a little scared of her. She saw him walk in the gate and turned to look, only to yelp and jump sideways when the boy’s Igni singed her back. When she turned around, Bazyli was standing behind the kid’s shoulder and giving her a pointed look. 

“May I go greet Mieszko?” she asked. “I--”

Bazyli shook his head. “You’ll see him later. Come on.”

By the time they stopped, Peta ached all over, and the adrenaline and excitement that had pushed her through the morning was long spent, leaving her drained. 

Mieszko was in the Great Hall when she went in for supper. She went over, sat down on the bench beside him, and he looked up. He was pale, hollow-eyed from exhaustion, but Peta didn’t think she looked much better. “Got your forktail?” he asked. 

That still made her smile. “Yep,” she said. “Just before dawn.” 

He shook his head, poured them both drinks from the pitcher on the table. Peta sipped hers -- some decoction, of course, but this one at least didn’t taste terrible. She took a long drink. 

“You got yours?” Peta asked, when Mieszko didn’t continue. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“So what’s wrong?”

“Janek isn’t back yet.” 

Peta hissed a curse under her breath. “He’ll be back any minute,” she said. “You know he’s too smart for any damn forktail to take out.” 

Mieszko glared at her. He really did look miserable. “I hope so,” he said, then looked back down at his plate. 

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Mieszko sighed, pushed his plate away and left the room. Peta followed soon after.

* * *

She woke up in the middle of the night to muffled shouts from the corridor. When she opened her door, Janek was there, still in filthy blood-stained leathers, his arms around Mieszko and looking as if the hug was the only thing keeping him upright. 

Janek whispered something in Miezko's ear, and Mieszko turned, pressed Janek against the wall and kissed him, hard.

Peta closed the door quietly. Witcher senses or no, she doubted either of them had spared enough attention to notice her. 

She climbed back into bed, pulled the blankets around her, and fell asleep wondering what it would be like to care about someone that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A clarification on gender: canonically, witcher mutations have to do with hormones, so I have handwaved this to mean Peta is now (for lack of a better term, someone help me out if there is one) biologically non-binary -- she still has a uterus and ovaries, but she won't go through puberty in the way most cis women do, and her general hormonal situation is skewed more toward testosterone than most cis women's would be. She still uses she/her pronouns for herself, but is also fine with he/him, especially once she's away from Kaer Morhen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for people who don't play the game:
> 
> Signs are basic spells witchers cast by making, well, signs, with one hand. In the 3rd game, these are:  
> Yrden: a magic trap thing  
> Quen: shield  
> Igni: starts fires  
> Axii: temporary mind control  
> Aard: telekinetic blast
> 
> Cat is one of a whole bunch of potions, it makes it easier to see in the dark.

Witcher trials didn't happen at a set age. You took the Trial of the Grasses when the trainers said you were ready, and the same was true of the final trial, the Trial of the Medallion. They were both held in spring, though -- to give kids time to recover before winter, and the threat of pneumonia, set in, and to give new witchers time to earn some coin before winter set in. That meant that as the weather warmed and the adult witchers trickled out of the fortress, the trainees waited for Vesemir to call the trial.

Peta thought she might be set the Trial of the Medallion that spring. There hadn't been a Trial last year, because Vesemir liked to send groups of at least four or five and that meant skipping a year sometimes. Now, though, there were four of them who had completed all the trials but this last one. They had spent a bleak winter a year ago taking a second round of mutagens -- nowhere near as bad as the Grasses, but bad enough. They'd killed griffons and packs of nekkers, brought parts back to make viler decoctions than they'd seen before, and taken enough of those decoctions to test their limits for toxicity. They'd passed Stefek's brutal grilling on plant identification and potion brewing, and Bazyli's equally difficult test of their monster knowledge. Last week, Peta had finally beat one of the grown witchers in the sparring ring. She'd stopped growing so fast her joints hurt, was strong enough to use full-sized witcher swords with ease, and if her Signs weren't as effortless as Janek's, they were good enough to beat Lambert every time, to his increasing frustration. 

She was ready. 

It was still a shock when Vesemir arrived for morning sword drills with a leather pouch held carefully in one hand. 

"Mieszko, Jaroslaw, Peta, and Dobromil, please come with me."

Peta stepped forward, avoiding Lambert's glare. Miezko hesitated for a second, looking at Janek, before following. Jaroslaw's eyes were wide and his jaw tight, but he didn't show any hesitation in his movement. Dobromil was practically bouncing as he walked, hiding a smile. 

Vesimir didn't look back, didn't speak as they crossed through the courtyards, out the gate, and across the bridge. Then he opened the pouch and handed each of them a medallion. It felt warm in Peta's hand, heavy when she hung it around her neck.

Vesemir turned to face them. "This is your medallion. Before it is usable, you must activate it at the Circle of Elements. He who returns with his medallion will prove himself worthy and may set off on the Path." 

They looked at each other, while Vesimir went on. "This is not a race, nor is it a competition. A witcher is a lone hunter, but even a lone hunter can use a helping hand sometimes."

Peta felt her shoulders drop in relief. 

"You can take the path to the watchtower, but from there you will need to follow the edge of the lake to the caverns. Pass through those, then climb Troll's Head, and you will find the Circle of Elements. Be sure to get there before dark. Place your medallions on the altar, then light the torches and wait until morning."

Vesimir looked at each of them in turn, holding their gaze just longer than was comfortable. "Gods speed you on your way," he said, and stepped aside.

Peta looked at Dobromil, who shrugged. Mieszko started jogging down the track, and the rest of them followed. 

The path to the watchtower was familiar. They kept up an easy jog, as if it was any other day's training, but today nobody was racing to get ahead, nobody was calling taunts at the others. They kept together, single file on the path, and they kept quiet. 

Mieszko was still in front when they got to the watchtower, and he stopped, hands on his hips, looking toward the lake. "D'you think there's a path?" he asked.

Peta walked to the edge of the clearing, where the ground dropped sharply down to the lake. "Not this way, unless you want to wade through the lake," she said. 

"The other side, maybe?" Jaroslaw asked, going through the doorway.

The watchtower had once been part of some larger building, but now only ragged stone walls surrounded the circular tower that was the only part the witchers maintained. They passed through the cobbled courtyard and out the other side. 

"Here," Jaroslaw said, making his way down a much more manageable slope to the water's edge. 

"You know anything about these caves?" Dobromil asked, glancing at Jaroslaw.

Jaroslaw shook his head, kept moving. "Nobody's allowed to talk about it."

"Yeah, but..."

"No," Jaroslaw said. "This one, really _nobody_ talks about it."

Peta felt the hairs on her neck stand up. "Why?"

Jaroslaw shrugged. "Dunno. They're not around long to tell after, and they keep to themselves getting ready."

They walked in silence around the northern tip of the lake. "Where's the entrance?" Mieszko asked. "We're almost back level with the watchtower."

Peta shrugged. "I don't think we'd miss it, would we?" 

"I just hope we don't end up back at Kaer Morhen and have to tell Vesemir we got lost."

Dobromil snorted. "Doubt that. Look, I bet it's just up there."

Peta looked. The shoreline curled back into a narrow inlet, and she could smell cold damp cave air that suggested Dobromil was right. Cave air, and something else...

"Nekkers!" She called, drawing her sword as they swarmed out of the cave. 

"Fuck," Mieszko swore, swinging automatically to cover Peta's back. The nekkers were fast, and loud, and filthy, but they weren't anything new, and a few minutes later 

Peta was looking around, sword in hand, and seeing only the four of them. 

They waited a few more seconds, then Peta shook her head, laughing under her breath for reasons she couldn't have explained, and wiped her sword on her pants leg. 

The others followed her lead, the tension breaking as they cleaned and sheathed their weapons and made their way through the marsh to the cave entrance. 

It got dark fast, the space cavernous and echoing, too big for a torch. "Cat?" she asked, reaching into her satchel and looking through the potions she had there. 

"I've got some," Jaroslaw said.

"Me too," Mieszko called.

"Um..."

"Seriously, Dobromil?" Peta asked. "Come here, I've got an extra." 

"I didn't think it'd be _today_ ," Dobromil protested. "I used mine up last week looking for sewant mushrooms, and I've been--"

"You've been _busy_ ," Mieszko called, grinning. "I saw you drinking with Niko last night, it looked like you were really uh, occupied."

"Look, I--"

"You trying to get your fun in before everyone's gone for the year?" Jaroslaw asked. "Only a few witchers still here."

Dobromil scowled at the two boys, then looked at Peta. She was laughing too, but she didn't say anything as she handed him the little glass bottle. 

Dobromil swallowed it, handed her back the bottle. "Let's go," he said, striding into the dark. Peta swallowed her own dose and followed. 

"Even a lone hunter can use a helping hand sometimes," she heard Dobromil call, imitating Vesemir. "Asshole could've just _said_ 'there's a damn great ledge, you won't make it up by yourselves so stick together,' but no, he's gotta get all metaphysical about it."

Peta caught up to him, and saw what he meant. "Come on," she said, bracing herself and offering her hands as a step. Dobromil stepped up, and she tossed him upward to catch the edge. 

He pulled himself up, stood, and looked around. "It's a fucking maze in here," he said. "This'll be fun."

Mieszko and Jaroslaw took their turns, and then Peta took a running leap and caught the hands stretched down to her. 

"Good thing you're little," Mieszko said.

Peta punched his shoulder. "I'm taller than you are," she said. "Who're you calling little?"

She knew what he meant, though. Mieszko might be a thumb's width shorter, but he was also broad and stocky, all compact muscle and the strongest of anyone they trained with. Peta wasn't skinny, but she was leaner and lighter than Mieszko, and he never let her forget it. 

"Shit," she said, looking around. Dobromil was right, the whole place was a tangle of intersecting tunnels, drop-offs and ledges and unsteady piles of rock. "Any guesses?"

"Well, we ought to be going up," Jaroslaw said, taking the lead again. "So I guess this way?"

They found three dead ends before Dobromil got impatient and broke a path through an unstable rockpile wall with an Aard that echoed through the tunnels. Peta followed him through a chamber, up onto a ledge, and as the echoes died down she heard something else. 

"Shhh" she hissed, pressing herself back against the wall. Something was in there, something bigger than a nekker. She strained her eyes and saw a huge hulking humanoid sitting in a patch of pale sunlight. It had a deer's leg in one hand, but was looking around, trying to find the source of the noise. 

They kept as still and quiet as they could, watching the thing, until with an unintelligible grumble it went back to its meal. 

"There," Mieszko pointed off to the right. "See that ledge? If we run we can make it before he finds us." 

Peta looked. It wasn't far, but neither was it far from the -- cyclops, she noted, as the light hit its single eye. 

"Cyclops aren't that fast," Jaroslaw whispered. "And if we move fast enough he won't find us quick either. One eye means no depth perception, they get confused sometimes in places like this, where it's dark, there's all kinds of obstacles..."

He looked at them. "What?" he asked. 

Dobromil shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Guess you've been busy too." 

Peta bit her lip to keep from giggling. It was mostly nerves, the strangeness of Dobromil making jokes while a fucking cyclops was eating its dinner 40 yards away.

"Come on," Mieszko said, "let's go."

He looked around, and they nodded, then he dropped down and sprinted toward the ledge, Peta on his heels, the others right behind. 

She heard a roar, sped up, reached the ledge just ahead of Mieszko. It was wide enough for both of them to climb up at once, then Peta scrambled away from the edge to give the other two space. The cyclops was coming towards them now, and although its steps were ponderous, they shook the stone, and each stride ate up more ground than five of Peta's. 

But Dobromil and Jaroslaw were scrambling over the edge already, and they raced toward away from the beast before it could reach them. Up another ledge, then a dead end--then no, to the right there was a way up, and when they all reached a long sloping tunnel that promised a way out with the faintest draft of fresh air, they stopped, breathing heavily, looking at each other and shaking their heads. 

"Fuck," Peta said. "Let's not do that again." 

Dobromil started laughing, and that got Peta started, and Mieszko and Jaroslaw, until they were gasping for breath. 

"Oh shit," Mieszko said, gasping. "Okay, let's get out of here."

* * *

Of course there were rock trolls. Troll's Head couldn't just be some kind of metaphor, maybe a rock that looked like a troll, no, it had to be a place where trolls lived. Peta saw three of them, crouched in the shadows at the cave entrance waiting while the Cat wore off and she could see properly in daylight again.

"You know anything about trolls?" she asked Jaroslaw.

He shrugged. "They're sentient, but they're not too bright. They kind of hate everything?"

"Great," Mieszko muttered. "So if we kill them, we're the assholes, but if we don't kill them, they'll probably make soup out of us."

"How's your Axii?" Jaroslaw asked.

Mieszko shrugged. "Not as good as Janek's."

"Yeah but nobody's Signs are as good as Janek," Dobromil said, ignoring Mieszko's glare. "There's four of us and three of them, we should be able to get them to... I dunno, go somewhere else and let us by."

Peta tried not to look worried. She didn't like Axii--she knew what it felt like when someone used it on her, like suddenly almost all of her brain was drowning in fog, with just enough awareness left to watch herself do whatever it was she was going to do. She hated that feeling, which made using the Sign on others uncomfortable.

Bazyli knew she didn't like it, so he made her use Axii more than anyone else, over and over until she stopped hesitating so much the Sign didn't work, but Peta knew her Axii was still weaker than it should be. 

"Come on," Dobromil said, jaw set. "Let's get this over with."

The trolls stood on the path ahead of them. "Witcherses go back," one growled. "This troll place."

Jaroslaw glanced at Peta, then made the Sign with his left hand. Peta followed, on the second troll, Mieszko on the third. Peta's troll was looking a little too alert for her liking, but Dobromil added his Axii to hers and it quieted. 

"You want to take a nap," Jaroslaw said, loud but calm. "Right over there." 

The trolls looked at him, looked at the others, then made their way to the far side of the path and lay down. A few seconds later Peta heard snores.

They picked their way carefully past. There was another cave ahead, but Peta could see light from the other side before she'd gotten fully inside, so she wasn't worried as she jogged through the tunnel and pulled herself up a ledge.

And then a nekker tackled her, and she fell back over the ledge, twisting to land on all fours rather than on her back. She felt the creature's weight disappear from her back just as she heard swords being drawn, and she drew hers as she got back to her feet, looking around in all directions. There were more Nekkers above them, jabbering and jeering from the edge. 

Dobromil turned to one side of the cave, started collecting fist-sized rocks and making a pile. "We can distract them," he said, "while someone gets up there to fight."

"I'll go," Peta said, right away. Nobody argued. 

"Okay," Dobromil said, picking up a stone. Jaroslaw and Mieszko followed him. "Ready?"

Peta nodded. 

"Go!"

Peta ran for the ledge, hearing the nekkers' shrieks as the rocks hit them. They leapt away, giving her just enough time to get her feet under her before turning to charge her, screaming. 

Peta moved away from the ledge, trying to give the others more space to climb up and join her. Before long she caught Dobromil moving to her left, lunging forward to sink his blade into a nekker that was leaping for Peta's head. 

Once all four of them were there, it was a quick fight. Peta stepped away from the stinking corpses and realized the Circle of Elements was just ahead of them. A well-worn path led to uneven stone steps, which they climbed silently, stepping onto a platform surrounded by unlit torches. 

"It's square," Dobromil said.

Peta looked at him, raised an eyebrow. 

"The _Circle_ of Elements? So where's the circle?"

Mieszko huffed out a breath. "Fuck, Dobromil, who cares what shape it is, we made it."

Jaroslaw walked past them to the stone altar table at the end and looked out. Peta followed him. The sun was already behind the mountains behind them, but it sparkled on the water of the lake, picked out the tower at Kaer Morhen.

The others stepped up beside them. 

"Damn," Mieszko said. "Nice view."

They watched as the shadows stretched across the lake, then Peta stepped back and looked around them. Four metal braziers stood, one at each corner, and the altar was crusted with old wax, a handful of candles standing above it. 

Mieszko lit the candles with a wave of his hand, then turned. "Light the fires, put the medallions on the altar and wait, right?"

Peta nodded. "Each light one?" It seemed appropriate. 

They spread out. Peta waited until Jaroslaw reached the far corner before she lit hers, and the others followed. The warm firelight made Peta realize how dark it had gotten, the sky fading from blue toward black. 

She walked toward the altar, her hand going to the medallion on her chest. It felt warmer than just body heat would account for as she raised it over her head and placed it on the altar. The other boys followed, and then they stepped away, all of them silent. 

"So now we wait," Dobromil said, his voice barely above a whisper. Peta nodded. 

She turned and sat, her back to the altar stone, and looked up at the mountain. Dobromil sat beside her, then Mieszko on her other side, then Jaroslaw. 

"What do you think it'll be like?" Dobromil asked quietly. "Out on the Path, alone?"

Peta shrugged. They'd spent winters begging the witchers for stories since they were kids, and they all knew by now that the stories witchers told kids weren't anything like the day-to-day life of finding contracts and hunting down monsters. Peta didn't think the witchers were trying to hide much from them anymore, but that didn't mean she could really picture it in her mind. 

"Lonely," Mieszko said. "I think it'll be lonely."

There was a long silence. 

"Not at first, though," Peta was half-surprised to find herself saying. "We won't be on our own the first year." 

Nobody responded, and they sat in silence for a while. 

Then Mieszko shifted to his knees, sat back on his heels. "There's power here," he said. "We should meditate, draw on it."

Peta shifted. Mieszko was right, there was something humming in the air that she didn't hear with her ears but felt on her skin. 

She settled into herself, letting the power resonate in her chest like a plucked string in a lute. When the sun rose, she would be a witcher. 

Somewhere behind her eyes, a wild, half-starved little girl looked at who she had become, and smiled.

* * *

Peta's meditation was interrupted by an argument.

"The sun rose an hour ago," Dobromil was saying.

"Yeah, but we can't see it from here," Jaroslaw argued.

Peta looked around. It was light, but high mountains blocked the sun in the east. 

Peta stood up to join them by the altar. "Vesemir just said wait until morning, right?" 

"He said sunrise," Jaroslaw said. "Which means when we can see the sun." 

Mieszko appeared from the woods, came over and grabbed his medallion. "Who cares? It's been long enough, let's go."

Dobromil grabbed his medallion and followed, then Peta took hers, then Jaroslaw shrugged, took his, and came along.

Mieszko bypassed the cave entrance and began picking his way down a steep slope. 

"Where are you going?" Jaroslaw asked.

"Found a shortcut," Mieszko replied. "Unless you want to dodge the trolls and the cyclops and the nekkers again?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." Dobromil said, and followed.

It was a shorter way down, Peta would give Mieszko that, but it wasn't exactly an easy way down. By the time they'd gotten down to the lakeshore, she'd taken most of the skin off her palms from sliding on a scree slope, and they'd all turned ankles and bruised knees and were grumbling a bit about the whole thing. 

But as they came around the shore toward the inlet, Peta saw a boat. Vesemir was sitting at the tiller, with all the grown witchers still at Kaer Morhen perched on the sides. Niko was the first to call out--"Hey, the pups made it back!"

He splashed through the shallows to greet them, followed by Brajan, Gawel and Eskel; then the trainers, Radzim, Stefek and Bazyli; only Vesemir stayed in the boat.  
Peta made her way through a gauntlet of hugs and slaps on the back, let herself be gently herded onto the boat. Niko kept an arm around Dobromil's shoulders, while Peta ended up next to Eskel. 

"Congratulations," Vesemir said, eyes twinkling, mouth almost smiling. "You're WItchers of the Wolf School now."

Peta caught the old man's eye, and he winked, then started calling out orders and steering the boat back toward Kaer Morhen.

* * *

* * *

Peta looked around her cubbyhole of a room one last time. It was empty, except for the furniture. On her back, two swords, silver and steel. In the pack on the floor in the hall, a bedroll, a cache of potions, clean shirt, socks, and drawers, a little food. 

She slung the pack over her shoulder and walked down the narrow stairs, through the hallway. The other boys watched as she passed through the courtyard, the younger ones wide-eyed, the older ones mostly looking jealous. Jaroslaw was waiting at the gate when she got there. She dropped her bag and leaned against the stone wall, careful of the new leathers and mail she was wearing.

Jaroslaw nodded hello. "Ready?" 

Peta took a deep breath, blew it out through her nose. "I guess so."

The four of them would travel through the mountains together, accompanied by two of the witchers -- the _other_ witchers. At some point they would split up, two and two, but for now Peta was glad not to go straight from Kaer Morhen, where unless she was out in the mountains she was never more than a few yards away from another witcher, to the Path, where she'd be on her own. 

Dobromil showed up next, and a little later Mieszko rushed up, out of breath with his hair mussed and shirt askew. 

Jaroslaw chuckled. "Get held up?"

Mieszko glared, but there wasn't any heat in it. He didn't say anything, just stood there catching his breath and looking down at the uneven cobbles. 

The two older witchers arrived soon enough after Mieszko that they must have been watching. Eskel and Gawel were -- well, it was hard to tell with Witchers, but Peta thought they were young, for witchers. Old enough that they hadn't been in training at the same time, but not too much older than that. They each led a horse, and looked a good deal more relaxed then Peta felt, chatting amiably as they walked over. 

Eskel looked them all over. "Ready?" 

Peta glanced at the other boys. Dobromil nodded. Mieszko shrugged, and Jaroslaw said "Guess we'd better be, right?"

Gawel grinned. "Yep. Come on, we'll put your things on the horses for now and Eskel and I will walk."

"You're lucky," Eskel added, taking the pack Peta handed him. "Oskar went with me and Geralt when we started on the Path. He rode, made us carry all our own things, spent the whole time down to Vespaden telling us to hurry our asses up." 

"Man, training's over," Gawel said, shaking his head, "no need to be a hardass anymore."

Loads settled on the horses, the two men looked back at the boys.

"Come on, let's get moving," Eskel said, and led the way out the gate. 

It was never a big deal, leaving the fortress. They did it every day, to run the Gauntlet or to collect herbs or to train in the mountains. The gate was never shut, the drawbridge was always down, it didn't usually seem like anything special. 

Today, though, when Peta heard the horses' hooves ringing on the wood of the bridge, it felt important. When her own footsteps passed from stone to wood and back to stone, she felt her heart beating quicker than their fairly sedate walk would account for, and made herself take one deep breath, then another. The men were leading the way, the boys following, and for a while they walked in silence, just listening to the chorus of noises that passed for a quiet day in the mountains. 

The day passed uneventfully, until the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, when they reached a little clearing with the remains of old fires scorching a well-trodden patch in the middle. 

"We'll stay here for night," Eskel said. "It's tradition." 

Gawel grinned. "Yeah. Tradition."

That sounded... interesting. 

"I'll go see if I can shoot something," Mieszko said. He'd barely said a word all day. 

Gawel and Eskel looked at each other, then Eskel shrugged. "Sure, if you want, but if you don't find anything just come on back, we've got plenty for tonight."

Mieszko nodded, unrolled his bedroll and took out the bow that had been wrapped inside the blankets. He strung it, grabbed a handful of arrows, and walked off into the woods. 

They got a fire going, and Eskel produced a couple loaves of bread and some cheese, and they settled down, munching and watching the flames. 

"He okay?" Eskel asked. "Mieszko?"

Peta shrugged one shoulder, leaned back on her hands. "Probably," she said. "He wasn't happy about leaving Janek--he was in our Grasses cohort, they're..." Peta trailed off. "They're close," she finished.

Eskel's smile went a little crooked. "Ah."

"Janek's good," Peta said. She felt like she should stand up for him. "I'm sure he'll go out next year, his Signs are better than any of ours, but Vesemir just... didn't think he was ready, I guess." 

Gawel snorted. "Who knows what Vesemir thinks?" 

Peta felt her eyes widen, just a bit, and looked down at the fire, hoping no one would notice. 

Dobromil let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Gods can only guess. I sure can't."

Peta tried to relax. She felt like all of this was a test, like she was being judged. But she'd finished all the tests, hadn't she? The medallion, heavy against her chest, proved it. 

Her hand went to it, the metal warmed by her skin. 

Eskel's eyes followed her hand, and as he looked away he smiled, just a little. 

"Tell us a story?" Jaroslaw asked, a little tentative. 

Gawel took a deep breath, blew it out toward the sky. "A story, eh?"

"I know what goes with a story," Eskel said, getting up and walking over to his saddlebags. "You go first," he called over his shoulder. 

"Well, shit," Gawel said. "I dunno, you're the one that runs around with that disaster magnet Geralt, you've got way better stories."

Peta's ears perked up, the way they always did when someone mentioned Geralt. It seemed silly to care, but she did. Geralt was the first one who thought she might become a witcher. 

Gawel noticed, because if Peta had learned anything, it was that grown witchers noticed _everythinh_. He raised one eyebrow, asking the question without asking it.

Peta decided not answering would be worse. "He brought me to Kaer Morhen," she said. 

Eskel was back now. He looked hard at Peta. "Wait. From Novigrad?" 

Peta nodded.

Eskel grinned, looked at Gawel, who apparently wasn't following. "You must have heard this one," he said, sitting down and opening a bottle of something. "The time Geralt showed up at Kaer Morhen with a kid that turned out to be a little girl?"

Peta felt her cheeks flush, and hoped it wasn't obvious in the firelight. "Yeah well," she grumbled. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"Nah," Eskel said, more gently. Peta looked up and he met her eye. "You're a witcher."

He took a drink, passed the bottle to Gawel. "To witchers," Gawel said, half-sarcastic, and drank. He handed the bottle on to Peta.

"To the Wolf School," she said, because it seemed like she should say something, and drank.

She did not cough, but it was an effort. She handed the bottle on to Dobromil, taking a second to catch her breath. "What _is_ that?" she asked.

Dobromil took a drink while Eskel and Gawel were laughing. He coughed and Peta felt a little smug.

"Half vodka, half White Gull," Gawel said. "Welcome to the Path, kids."

Jaroslaw looked at the bottle dubiously, took a smaller drink, and passed the bottle on. He just cocked his head to one side, considering. 

Mieszko emerged from the woods a little later, empty-handed and a little sheepish. "Didn't find anything," he said. "You assholes are making too much noise."

Eskel waved that aside. "Come sit," he said. "We've got bread and cheese and booze, that'll do." 

Mieszko joined the circle, took the bottle when it was offered. "Wow," he said.

Peta laughed. 

Mieszko tried to glare at her, but gave up. He took another drink. "Looks like I need to catch up," he said.

"Hey," Dobromil said. "Jaroslaw asked for a story, and you just told us about Peta, which we all already knew. Come on, a _real_ story." 

Gawel looked at Eskel. 

Eskel sighed. "All right, fine..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ending this one here, but I'm already working on a part 2 with grown-up-witcher Peta so the story will continue. 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for all the comments, they're really great motivation to keep writing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really not sure where this is going, but it's apparently going somewhere!
> 
> ETA: Apparently "where it's going" is "all over the damn place," stay tuned for Part 2...
> 
> Title is from a [Godspeed You Black Emperor album](https://godspeedyoublackemperor.bandcamp.com/album/lift-your-skinny-fists-like-antennas-to-heaven) which is mindblowingly good


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